


the last witness before the wave hits

by pearwaldorf



Series: depressing Bible stories with ineffable idiots [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Drowning, Gen, Mass Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: The terrible thing is, nobody even thinks anything’s wrong at first. There’s always a rainy season and a dry season, and the rivers swell and overflow their banks. Some years it’s worse, and people shake their heads and pitch in to rebuild whatever was lost. This time though, the rain doesn’t stop.





	the last witness before the wave hits

Aziraphale watches the people of Mesopotamia drown. Strictly speaking, this is not part of his official duties. As a Principality, he oversees groups of people. What exactly that means in a situation like this, neither the higher spheres nor the Almighty saw fit to clarify. So he muddles along the best he can.

There’s plenty of curiosity about the Ark, but nobody seems to be paying much attention to how Noah and his family are carefully collecting two of every animal, or the stowing of a notable amount of provisions. (He does not wonder if this is mere human obliviousness or a deliberate decision on somebody’s part, because either way, he’s sure he’s not going to like the answer.) 

The terrible thing is, nobody even thinks anything’s wrong at first. There’s always a rainy season and a dry season, and the rivers swell and overflow their banks. Some years it’s worse, and people shake their heads and pitch in to rebuild whatever was lost. This time though, the rain doesn’t stop. 

Some of the wiser or more cautious ones send their loved ones to higher ground. (Aziraphale doesn’t know if it does any good in the end.) At least a few people see the giant boat and beg for shelter. (He does not know if they are welcomed aboard, or if Noah and his family feel any qualms about obeying the Almighty’s will.) 

Slowly at first, and then all at once, the villages flood. If Aziraphale were consulted in the matter, he would have preferred it to be sudden. At least that way they wouldn’t be scared. When people are scared, sometimes they scream a lot. Or worse, they pray. And they pray to a God who has turned Her face away from those She created, because She thought they were wicked, beyond saving. 

It is not his place to question the Almighty. It still remains his place to minister to these people. And so, he answers their prayers. Sort of. 

Miracles aren’t necessarily difficult, but they are much easier when one can persuade the thing or creature being miracled it would be much better if you were in this other state, if you wouldn’t mind. Convincing a drowning person they are not drowning and are, in fact, standing on the rise above where their home and farm used to be, alongside their family and friends; is not difficult. Doing it for all the people is a bit more so. By the time the miracle is completed to his satisfaction, he is exhausted. 

He uses the last of his energy to search out Crowley. He’s in a dive bar in Aleppo, surrounded by empty bottles of wine. Aziraphale kicks a path through and sits across from him. 

“You look worse than I do. That’s impressive.” Crowley unsprawls from the table he’s been laying on and tries to figure out if one of the bottles might have something left.

“I would like a drink, if you wouldn’t mind. Something strong if you can manage it.” 

Something must come through in his voice, because Crowley stops and looks at him for a moment. Then he grabs an empty bottle and frowns at it. It’s no longer empty when he hands it across the table. 

Aziraphale takes a long drink directly from the bottle. It is as strong as he was hoping, and he makes a face. 

“This is terrible,” he tells Crowley. 

“You said strong, you didn’t say good,” Crowley replies, but there’s no bite in it. 

“Regardless, thank you.” He takes another drink.

He’s about halfway through the bottle when Crowley speaks up.

“You didn’t have to stay. All the way to the end, I mean.” 

“They were still under my care! I had to do what I could.” 

Crowley scoffs. “They’re still dead, aren’t they?” 

“I had no say in that!” He takes a long, emphatic slug. “But I made sure they weren’t scared, in the end. Doesn’t that count for something?” 

Crowley reaches across the table and grabs the bottle. He doesn’t drink from it like Aziraphale expected. “You are the strangest angel I have ever met.” 

There’s a glint in Crowley’s eyes that Aziraphale can’t quite place, and he pushes the bottle back. It’s full again. He takes a drink, and while it’s still not great, it is considerably less shit than it was before. 

He looks at Crowley. “Would you like some?”

“I’m good for now. But if you want me to stick around while you finish it off?” Crowley tilts his head.

Aziraphale smiles for the first time since he was called to Mesopotamia. “I think I would like that.”


End file.
